


Love Will Find You (This Is A Threat)

by Sthene



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ahahaha Nooo Don't Kiss Me Bro You're Supposed To Be My Narrative Foil, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 as Family (Naruto), F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Goodbye Rinnegans I Don't Know How To Balance You, Hatake Kakashi Is Trying, Hatake Kakashi is Not Okay, Hatake Kakashi is a Little Shit, Hatake Kakashi-centric, I Watched Lilo & Stitch Once As A Child And Internalized It Permanently, In Which I Try To Write Everyone In Character But Inevitably Fail, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Sasuke Loves: REVOLUTION, Sasuke Loves: Team 7, Sasuke Loves: Tomatoes, but eventually, idiots to lovers, it's about the hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sthene/pseuds/Sthene
Summary: “Emissaries of the Hidden Leaf ” rings the tranquil greeting behind white porcelain, “I am forever in your debt and filled with gratitude. Your aid to not only this land but to my precious kin proves to me your steadfastness and virtue as potential allies to Uzushio and her people. I would be honored to be your humble host for the entirety of your stay.”Obito is ecstatic at the prospect of another responsible adult to combat Rin and the Three Nuisances’ opinions on the merits of faithful adherence to government protocol. Truly, what stands before him is a paragon to his profession. A model priest, a beacon to his kind. The man rises from his bow and Obito is ripped from his thoughts about how exactly none of this behavior rubbed off on the man’s children.“...Is what a responsible priest would say. So go ahead and get lost, okay? Looking at your face is really starting to become annoying~”What.Or,Team 7 gets Super Evicted and Obito’s no good, very bad, terrible couple of years.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Hyuuga Hinata, Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nohara Rin/Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 28
Kudos: 94





	1. Do You Have a Comrade?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, thoughtlessly clicking on a discord link from a friend and falling into a Kakashi vs. Obito fight AMV youtube wormhole: "Wow, I sure hope this doesn't awaken something in me!"
> 
> And it always does, doesn't it gamers.
> 
> It always does.
> 
> T19K this is ALL. YOUR. FAULT.

_“Don’t you want to hang out and waste your life with us?”_

_October 10th, Year 0 P.I. (Post Impact)_

If someone were to be hypothetically out there—say somewhere ridiculous, like the moon—passing judgement on the actions of key figures in the Fourth Shinobi War, they most likely would have raised an eyebrow at the decisions of Uchiha Sasuke. Abruptly waking in the Valley of the End in the middle of the night apparently doesn’t raise any red flags, despite the fact he had been battling the ten-tails moments prior. He has always been a bit of a lost cause once Naruto becomes involved.

But if anyone were to mention this undeniable fact, Sasuke would just have to do what he does best—unspeakable violence upon anything that threatens or threatens _to_ reveal his feelings to one mouth breathing idiot. Time has extended her merciful favor for once in his life as it isn’t until _after_ he has finished riling himself up over imaginary lunar adversaries that his rival climbs to his feet. Sasuke breathes in short, rage filled breaths—if he tries hard enough, he can almost convince himself that all he has ever wanted is the hate of the world. The inevitable cold of the grave. That it is both his destiny and obligation— set into stone the moment he took his first lungful of air and screamed.

It is for precisely this reason he cannot allow the man across from him to launch into one of his—infamous, at this point—impassioned speeches. Words that strike at every weakness in the walls he has painstakingly maintained for longer than he will ever admit. Words that make him think about sky-blue eyes and sun-bright smiles and he _hates it, wants to hurt it, wants to shatter its bones._ Naruto’s brutality lies in the empathy in his words, the selfless dedication in his eyes. Despite what is to follow, this is the true agony. An unstoppable force meets a previously immovable object and Sasuke is dragged kicking and screaming into a moron’s tomorrow. 

**___________________**

Sakura wakes like a compound fracture—a visceral shot of pain followed by a brief period of shock. As any medic-nin worth her salt knows, the real pain is soon to follow. Taking advantage of this time window she tries to categorize her surroundings; concluding that she must have suffered a head injury as something is indescribably, imperceptibly _off_ about every little pebble, every piece of bark on the trees.

The ( _wrong wrong wrong)_ blades of grass dance between her fingers as they have so many times before as Sakura drags herself into sitting. It’s nighttime, the moon shining its detached gaze on the happenings of the blue-green rock below. Something shifts nearby—a prone figure dressed in a familiar uniform with a familiar shock of silver hair. _Kakashi._

Sakura does not absorb that the cicadas have ceased their song, so determined in her attempts to move her legs in a coordinated enough fashion to check the vitals of her former teacher. When the explosion hits she is wholly unprepared for the blowback, slipping unceremoniously; an elbow slamming into an exposed back. The following excruciated wheeze notifies her that she has succeeded in her mission.

“ _Wh-gh.._ .what did I do _now_?” he mock-whimpers, curling into his side like a pill bug.

All sympathy the medic-nin potentially held for the man evaporates completely. _Why are you like this._ She considers the slowly unfurling body—sans the earlier blow he seems no worse for wear than she herself. Kakashi is able to bring himself to a wincing sit ( _okay, maybe she did hit him a little hard_ ) when the next fulmination impacts; illuminating the sky and whipping the branches of the forest, cracking them in places that prove unworthy against the onslaught.

Kakashi stares blankly in the direction of the incredible outburst of chakra, hair blown back like one of the more pathetic trees; a clear look of “ _well,_ **_that’s_ ** _not good”_ flashing over masked features. The cicadas have reluctantly resumed their prior communications, whirrs and chirps serving as the backdrop for the full three minutes the Copy-Nin takes to compose himself before angling towards Sakura, 

“My, do you think they’re fighting~?” eye upturned into its customary crinkle as she is subjected to what feels like the millionth willfully airheaded comment from a long-standing member of the Bingo Book. But she can see the wheels beginning to turn in his head, too. Through the mental fog pierces an insistent, primal instinct that they should not be here. They should not be anywhere near here.

One of these days, it's going to be _Sakura_ responsible for the grievous injury of one of her teammates. 

**___________________**

Naruto wakes like a cat in the sun—muscles languid and senses muffled. He recalls a dock bathed in the russet glow of a setting sun and a boy who will unconsciously sew himself so deep into the fabric of Naruto’s life that he will regard it as a trap when he at last registers it. What felt like days in the dream world being only a few moments in the waking, he wonders if Sasuke will still be there when he opens his eyes. _He better be, he finally got that bastard._

It is in this moment that Naruto comes to the swift realization that he decidedly does _not_ feel like a cat dozing in the sun. His nerves alighting white-hot pain as his body instinctually seeks out the one he would do anything for; search until the last of his days for, die for—even if it would leave behind regrets. He doesn’t have to look far ( _which is great, because, ouch)_ for his gaze to meet the twitching lids of a slowly waking Uchiha.

Naruto pushes down the pang of regret at being denied more time to observe delicate features—young and untroubled in such a completely foreign way that makes him ache. Eyes finally meet as they both move to speak in tandem only to hesitate at the last moment, expectant silence growing thick in the glow of an infant sunrise. 

“Why are you still involving yourself with me _?”_ ( _Why does it hurt when I look at you?_ ) and “Because you’re my friend _”_ ( _I can’t live without you_ ) hang heavy in the air; specters formed in the darkest of corners, created by the passage of time. Creatures only to be glanced at from the periphery to avoid a claw reaching out to grab—never to be looked at for too long. 

Five long years the shades subsisted on hatred and grief, bloated from the abundance. Yet they evaporate, the same as any other darkness, under the stretching fingers of the sun. Dispelled entirely before they could witness the small, honest smile. A concession. A genuine laugh that has the jinchuriki's heart flipping inside his chest. 

“Hey, Naruto. I just acknowledged you. Calm down so you don’t bleed out on the ground next to me, stupid.” Sasuke turns stiffly in an attempt to hide the tear that slips free, “... I’m not going anywhere.”

Naruto feels something stretch taught between the ( _red, so impossibly, significantly red)_ smear of blood between them, before settling into place—warm and satiated. Accepting the embrace of unconsciousness ( _not death, no—no way they can die after this_ ) he swears he can feel phantom fingers slowly intertwine with his.

**___________________**

When Sakura and Kakashi find them she fears they are dead. Sasuke and Naruto are always in action, always thrashing against the orbit of the other. Pushing, pulling, scratching, biting—it all starts to blend together from her outsider’s perspective and she wonders if for them it is at all similar. The sight of them motionless, soaked in blood and silent on stone fills her with a familiar sadness. 

_Trying to speed ahead of me again, huh?_

Kakashi has already knelt beside Naruto, shooting her a concerned glance that kick-starts her brain into action. 

_No. No more getting left behind. I’m going to drag you idiots back to life with my bare hands if I have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say, new year new crippling hyper-fixation! But this time I'm being eco-friendly and recycling! Honestly I don't really know what to type but the inspirations for this fic so that's what I'm gonna do.
> 
> Like a lot of other fics, I have really been inspired by blackkat's amazing writing--in particular their fic Stormborn. If you have been living under a rock and haven't read it or any of their other works, I cannot recommend it enough, they are hands down (in my opinion) some of the best works on this site.
> 
> Stormborn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877970  
> Blackkat's profile:https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
> 
> I am also a huge fan of RayShippouUchiha's writing and their tumblr, they create so many additions to the Naruto Universe that are just super thoughtful and a joy to read--they are also super approachable and kind to their anon/non-anon tumblr asks and messages.
> 
> Their tumblr: https://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/  
> Their profile: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
> 
> Unfortunately I can't tag everyone who has posted on reddit, or other sites encouraging others to write that story that's been in their head forever--but reading all the encouragements to just put it out there have really encouraged me more than I could say. 
> 
> And If you took a chance and read this hot garbage of a fic, you deserve actual money but I am poor and have no Gamestop Stocks.


	2. City of Commerce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need that damn vaccine. Only then can I escape Naruto's grip from the depths of quarantine.

_“Being alive is pretty much a constant stream of embarrassment.”_

_October 15th, Year 0 P.I._

If Sakura spontaneously developed the ability to time travel and consequently established contact with her genin self to tell her that not only would Team Seven be reunited, but that she would be routinely sleeping in the same tent as Sasuke, she imagines that her younger self would combust in the face of such an inhuman amount of joy. Shifting to peek over the slowly rising and falling shoulders of Naruto at her side, she spies the still form of the Uchiha and idly wonders if his face could withstand the force of one of her punches at point blank range. Kakashi, who is currently standing watch, catches her awake through the open tent flap and for a terrifying split second seems to be able to peer inside her mind. She holds his gaze, caught red handed, before he gives his trademark half-moon smile and returns to the brochure in his hands—the only piece of literature they have been able to come by so far.

 _At least he’s stopped referring to himself as a widow,_ she grouses, remembering his tearful theatrics upon first discovering the obliterated remains of his beloved book. The sky is painted in the gentle pinks and yellows of early morning and to her displeasure she realizes she has woken early enough to have cheated herself out of a few more hours of rest. Reluctantly emerging from her bedroll she neatly folds it into her pack (with no worries of disturbing Naruto, who still sleeps like the dead) resolving to get a headstart on the new day. 

“You wouldn’t coincidentally happen to know of the vegetable the closest village is most famed for, would you?” she dryly questions in lieu of a proper greeting.

“You’re in luck Sakura, the closest village is known almost entirely for their plentiful harvest of leeks every November to February~” chimes her former teacher, only turning a thin page now that he knows he has an audience. 

She kneels beside the man—observing that he is now on a page about local hot springs—and proceeds to light the small campfire constructed the day before. She reaches again into her pack to retrieve a small packet of instant coffee from her depressingly dwindled supply, pouring it slowly into a tin cup filled with water. As she waits for the flames to heat it to the appropriate temperature she finds herself once again drawn to the still sleeping forms of her comrades. 

_Idiots_ , she sighs, wondering how she hadn’t seen it before.

As in the waking world they are equally drawn together in sleep. Lightly curled hands resting inches from one another, heads turned as if in hushed conversation. The both of them look too criminally relaxed to have recently lost an arm, especially as a direct result of the actions of the other. 

“Boys,” she unknowingly grumbles, “I’ll never get them.”

She almost spills the now hot beverage at the sound of Kakashi’s “Well, that probably says something good about you then.”

Mortified she turns to catch the soft look on his face, his attention shifting to the pair as he continues, “They are quite the handful, aren’t they?” 

He then leans conspiratorially towards her and stage whispers, “Keep this between us, but I think they’re pretty lucky to have you.” 

She ignores the urge to preen under the praise as if she were still a child, choosing instead to cradle the cup between her hands—drawing it close to her chest as she speaks, “Kakashi, something isn’t right here. Something hasn’t been right since we woke up in those woods.”

“I know, Sakura,” he sighs, tired with an honesty she has never heard from him before, “I know.”

**___________________**

Fate often finds itself repeating in the most tragic of ways, a fact that Kakashi knows intimately. But sometimes, once in a blue moon, it surprises him with one of its more lighthearted, pleasant themes. 

_How cute._ He thinks as he observes Naruto and Sasuke awkwardly dance around each other in their makeshift camp. It’s much like the period of time following their mission in Wave Country, the two flustered and red cheeked as they were forced to deal with the fallout of expressing vulnerability. Naruto is healing at a much quicker pace thanks to the Kyuubi, but even he is not able to be completely self sufficient which often results in hilarity; the two are forced to work as a team to perform basic tasks while alternatively avoiding eye contact. Many cups of water have been spilled this way—creating the knee jerk reaction to blame the other before remembering the unsaid rule on eye contact, gazes snapping frantically to the ground.

To his immense joy Sakura has also picked the best timing to develop a petty streak—often looking directly into Naruto's pleading puppy eyes for an extended period of time before leaving him to his fate. Sasuke, for all of his sulking, knows better than to ask of Sakura anything. Waiting for the inevitable breaking point of the spectacle unfolding before him is the more preferable pastime than thinking about the inconsistencies that have begun to pile up; If nothing else, Kakashi is a master of the art of deflection.

Normally a team would conduct their supply trips separately, two staying behind at their base of operations with the other two venturing into town for items and intel. However, given their unique situation it has been agreed upon to instead pack up their camp and head into the nearest village as a group—at least for now. It’s another strange inconsistency that has been nagging at the back of everyone’s minds that no one at any of their stops seems to really recognize them, not even those like Kakashi or Naruto with distinct physical characteristics. Their hooded cloaks rarely see usage as a result of either a false sense of security or to tempt fate into finally tipping over the uneasy peace of the past couple of days.

It rained heavily the night prior, turning the trail treacherous and slick—something Sasuke in particular proceeds to have difficulty navigating given his newfound balance issues. Kakashi notes that it is around righting attempt number 35 that Sakura finally has enough of his bullheaded independence and marches over, forcibly links the boys hands, shoots them a pointed look of “ _stop slowing me down or I’ll drop kick you both to the bottom of this hill”,_ and huffs past a very amused Kakashi.

He’s sure that the shit eating grin he is wearing is fully visible even beneath his mask—if the venomous look Sasuke is sending him is any indication—but like a dog chasing a bushy tailed cat up a tree he can’t leave well enough alone. 

“Can I _help you?”_ hisses the Uchiha, figurative hackles raising even as his burning face destroys any chance of actually appearing threatening.

 ****“It’s just so nice seeing you all working together again!” Kakashi chirps, an artificial pep to his step as he moves to the side of the muddied trail to let his two long suffering students pass. He has never seen Naruto so stiff in his life.

 _Cute,_ he thinks for around the hundredth time today, _his students are just so cute._

**___________________**

Being carried downhill by a massive idiot gives Sasuke plenty of time to reflect on his past. Namely, all the murders that he technically did not commit. After spending a decent amount of time on it, he concludes that it is a little bit strange that _two_ of his opponents did end up exploding in a last ditch effort to take him with them—and in pretty close chronological proximity too. Somewhat confused but ultimately satisfied, he concludes that his hands are _technically_ unstained enough to be able to argue his case to Naruto once he smothers Kakashi to death tonight with that stupid fucking travel pamphlet.

Following the mental utterance of “revenge”, Sasuke glances guiltily at the oddly silent Naruto at his side. _Ridiculous, it’s not like he can read minds,_ he chastises himself, completely oblivious to the raging meltdown occurring in the brain of the man next to him. Before his boredom can turn to distraction and then attentiveness—before he can notice exactly _how_ rigid the arm that is holding him steady is, the tiny beads of sweat accumulating at the neck of Naruto’s jacket—they mercifully reach the end of the hill’s steep decline. Sakura, a muted picture in pink, stands with a hand visored over her eyes in an attempt to peer closer at the tiny figures going about their lives below.

“It’s larger and more crowded than we’re used to. It might be a bit dangerous”, she notes before turning to face them. She must see something interesting as her sweeping gaze comes to an abrupt stop, followed by a blooming curl to her lips before she can obscure it behind a glove. Sasuke raises a questioning eyebrow as she switches to then look at the approaching figure of their former teacher, an apparently telepathic conversation being conducted; a development that he finds himself decidedly not a fan of.

Naruto speaks up after what has felt like an almost unbearable eternity of silence, an uncharacteristic stutter coloring his words, “I-I m-mean we’re together as a team again and everything has been pretty okay so far, what’s the worst things can go?”

“What is wrong with you, moron? Are you getting sick or something—what’s with the stutter?”, Sasuke has had enough of the other man’s strange behavior, having to turn and tilt his head downwards (something he doesn’t have the time to be smug about) to address him directly,

“N-nothing, why are you so concerned about it anyway?!” Naruto has turned as well, chin tilted slightly up to the same effect—his indignant shout frightening off a pair of nesting birds from a nearby tree.

“ _Because_ I don’t want to catch whatever cold you seem to be developing, _idiot!”_ Maybe if Sasuke explains it slowly, like he would to a stupid child, he can actually get his point across.

**___________________**

Outside the world that Sasuke and Naruto have created for themselves in another of their infamous spats, Sakura looks skyward and prays. ****

Clenches her eyes shut and feverishly hopes that her next thoughts can reach her past self; the one freshly assigned to Team Seven. ****

“ _Run. Just ... run, it’s not worth it. Please. I’m begging you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly googling the canon heights of the Naruto cast was a wild ride that I was not prepared for. I am now cursed by this knowledge and now you are too.
> 
> Sasuke and Obito are SIX FOOT??? Um, excuse me??
> 
> Somehow I just had just internalized the false belief that the entire Uchiha clan was comprised of vengeful little Napoleon complexes.


	3. Alternative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like most things in my life, this small endeavor has quickly developed a life of its own and I can no longer control or even suggest to it how long I would like my chapters to consistently be. I am Frankenstein playing God in my own hubris and this is my out-of-control, murderous monster.

_“Sometimes the answers just crash down from heaven.”_

_October 15th, Year 0 P.I._

_“... what’s the worst things can go?”_

Naruto thinks he can feel a full-body cringe coming on as he faces the repercussions of—yet again—spitting in the face of fate. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), the sheer scope of the disaster in which they have now found themselves eclipses anything anyone could have said in the past several weeks.

_What’s the **worst** things can go? _

Terribly, apparently. Things can go terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

It happens as they are nearing the village entrance, two men standing in idle conversation next to a muddied merchant cart. The settlement is much larger than the others they had made stops at; but not large enough to have any real guard to hold up potential visitors—the men conversing in the now steady light of day simply seem to be friends, catching up after an extended separation.

As they close the distance, Naruto manages to pick up on the tail end of a conversation,

“ ... shame it’s my most profitable event, with it being responsible for the deaths of the poor Hokage’s son, the Uchiha’s too. Lord Minato’s wife is always such a kind woman; it’s tragic to see a frown on her face whenever I set up shop, and _poor_ Fugaku...”

_He has to be hallucinating. No way. No way he just heard that correctly._

Kakashi and Sasuke must have overheard it too with how quickly their heads whip over to the oblivious pair. Naruto feels detached from his body, blood frozen in his veins. The grip on his hand clenches tight to the point of near pain, anchoring him back to the earth and the wind and the sky that feels so wrong, doesn’t feel right at _all._ Whatever Sakura sees when she turns around to look at them twists her face in rage, has her throwing off the cautioning hand of their former teacher as she stalks over and flings the owner of the cart against it.

“I’m going to give you two minutes to explain to me why you **ever** thought that joke would be in good taste.” The material of the now whimpering merchant’s shirt begins to tear as Sakura shoves him further up the cart’s wooden rails.

The man’s friend stumbles gracelessly before gaining enough footing to attempt his escape into the safety of the village walls, shooting one last look behind him before crashing into Kakashi. The ordinarily placid face of their former teacher is bitingly cold as he places a hand on the man’s shoulder, as final as a jail cell door slamming shut.

“Now, didn't you learn as a kid to not turn your back on predators? You’ll only excite her into running you down.” He clicks his tongue in a light _tsk_ as if scolding an unruly child, “Isn’t that right, Sakura?”

Her answering grin is feral, fists twisting impossibly tighter into the now ruined weeping merchant’s shirt, “Your two minutes. _Are_. _Up_.”

Snot and tears drip down the man’s face in undignified streams, his eyes frantically searching for aid, and upon finding none blubbers, “S-sa-Sakura? L-like the Haruno’s kid?!”

The tension in the air curls around Team Seven, constricting enough to choke. The man currently writhing in Sakura’s grip gives a sudden yelp. As Naruto follows his line of sight, he finds Sasuke’s eyes blazing red.

“Yuki must have sent you, r-r-right?! I-I promise I’ll b-be able to pay the debt back, it didn’t have to go this far—the Haruno girl is dead just like the rest of them!”

The man under Kakashi’s grip speaks up, “I-it’s true! Th-The parents—they’re merchants just like us, the Kyuubi attack killed more than just that kid. You—“ his teary eyes lock onto their forehead protectors, “You would know this if you were really Konoha shinobi, ss-so please go ahead and just take the debt and tell Yuki it’s even!”

With that exclamation, the two scramble down the road—sans all belongings—in the opposite direction of the village. The waking life around them continues to stir as if any other day: pots and pans clinking as the villagers nearby prepare their first meals, white cumulus clouds lazily floating past a now sunny early morning sky, birds singing in the trees. Naruto feels such an acute sensation of being a part of this world yet _not_ , like a word perched precariously on the tip of his tongue. Whatever happens next, there is no coming back from it.

He stumbles as Sasuke makes his way to the abandoned cart—the silence around them still so oppressive that no heat makes its way to his face upon the realization that they had been holding hands the entire time. Life returns to the odd bubble that seems to separate Team Seven from the rest of the world, boxes scraping against the wooden floor of the cart and the occasional item flung from within to land on the muddied road below—Sasuke roots through the contents with a single-minded determination. What starts as an odd trinket or two tumbling over the lip of the cart soon turns into equipment kicked to the muddy ground below, ultimately evolving to the contents of the carriage being vigorously flung onto the roadside.

Kakashi seems about to intervene before the sounds eventually die down, settling into a calm as Sasuke emerges, hopping down from the lip of the cart with a folder in his hands. There is a slight tremor to it as he opens it—leafing through a few shipping manifestos with slight difficulty until reaching his target, turning the contents over to the curious gazes of Team Seven.

Naruto turns to Sakura to see the red of her rage drained to white as she inspects the item held in their teammate’s hands. There is a pull for him to look as well— _knows_ it is in his best interest to stay as informed as the rest of his cell as they are still at war (but something whispers _where did that tree vanish to then? Madara? The Ten-Tails?_ ). He turns his head if only to silence the part of him asking questions he is too terrified to answer.

Which turns out to be a bit of a mistake. But just a tiny one. A very, very small, itsy bitsy mistake.

In a photo dated just a few weeks ago, the merchant they had just run out of town grins up at them from beneath the arch of Konoha’s main gate, shaking hands with ... with ...

_Dad._

Minato Namikaze—still wearing his Yondaime coat—stands on the other end of the man, a subdued smile on his face. The image settles uneasily into the hollow of his chest, curling comfortably next to its sibling. It’s the same one he’s seen on Kakashi when he thinks no one is _really_ looking; exhausted and so, so brittle. Naruto really hates that smile _._

_Smiles are supposed to be happy._

But the air isn't truly knocked from his lungs until he looks to the right of the photo. Kushina ( _and holy shit, that’s his **mom**_ ) stands at her husband’s side, the same false smile stretching thin across her face. Naruto’s hand twitches unconsciously for the previous comforting grip of another’s. He almost jumps out of his skin when Sasuke reaches out to grip the shoulder of his jacket. There is no resulting awkward glace between them as Naruto finds him still boring holes into the photograph's left side.

While the Namikaze-Uzumakis seemed content to put on the social airs required of their station when interacting with businessmen, the Uchihas apparently felt no such need. Fugaku and Mikoto’s stony faces are turned towards the camera, clearly there for required clan reasons if their uniquely disdainful-yet-disinterested expressions are any indication. Naruto could find the humor in the Sharingan not being the only thing passed down from parents to son if not for the current situation.

“Oh my, what a terrible joke.” Kakashi comments, his strangled voice betraying his usual affected lazy disposition.

“An extremely specific joke that someone would have to know our exact locations and arrival times to pull off.” Sasuke says as he turns the photo over to reveal the document underneath it, the words “ _Kyuubi Memorial Festival”_ written on the top in smudged ink, “I don’t see why this would be the thing anyone would try to pull if a war was still going on.”

 _Right. Great. The War. Thank you for the reminder, Sasuke._ Naruto wonders if he has spent too much time around both of his teachers, resulting in their penchant for avoiding the thoughts and situations that bother them passing itself onto him. The fact that his first instinct is to Just Not Think About It gives him all the answers he needs. He does not like the answers.

Luckily, he has just the skill to address that.

As Naruto smothers the thoughts; throwing them into the farthest corners of his mind behind several doors with locks and keys—and hey, maybe the chains are a bit overkill, but he thought they would look cool and what do you know they _do_ —he finds himself grateful for the lesson he had previously overlooked.

_Wow, thanks, Kakashi! This whole ignoring everything feels great!_

**___________________**

It is at this precise moment that a cold chill makes its way down Kakashi’s spine. He feels his eye narrow in suspicion as he scans over the three nearby, each still lost in the investigation of the mysterious folder’s contents.

_One of you just developed an unhealthy habit._

And if Hatake Kakashi, son of Sakumo the White Fang, Konoha’s youngest Anbu captain, the dreaded Copy Nin has spent his life mastering the art of anything ...

... it’s being a hypocrite.

He is going to sniff out this toxic coping mechanism and rip it to shreds.

**___________________**

“Give me that,” Sakura plucks the sheet of paper from the folder, making pointed eye contact with Sasuke before focusing on the manifesto's rows of numbers and items, “my parents are merchants. I know what I’m doing.”

 _Huh, that’s the most she’s spoken to either of us all week._ Naruto thinks as he desperately grasps at an attempt at positivity. _Maybe things aren’t so bad?_

Sasuke seems to war with himself for several moments before he shifts closer to see the paper’s contents as well. Naruto recognizes it as the same look on his face when they were kids trying to see under Kakashi’s mask. Holding himself back from doing something that he wants to for the sake of appearances.

Sakura does an excellent job of concealing her shock, stiffening only a little. She drags a finger down the list before stopping at a section labeled “Memorial Lanterns” “Look here. This is as meticulous and official as it can get—they even recorded serial numbers. I’m not saying that there is no way this can be a joke, but I can personally attest to how aggravating having to find and accurately record hundreds of inventory like this is.” Sakura worries a lip between her teeth as she turns the paper over, “And this ... this has the names.”

Naruto and Kakashi have snuck closer at this point; Naruto sidling up to her other side while Kakashi looks over her shoulder.

_There are so many names._

It’s much more than Naruto can remember being recorded on the stone monument back home. Kakashi ends up the only one capable of recognizing any of the listed deceased as the attack happened when the rest of them were barely a month old. He is mostly silent until about halfway down the list when Naruto hears him suck in a sharp breath.

“Shisui?” he then gestures for Sakura to lift the paperwork higher towards his face, “That’s ... not right either ...” She makes a questioning noise, urging him to continue, “He died long after the Kyuubi attack, not during it.”

“It just doesn’t make sense to me. Why bother with perfectly documenting everything in paperwork only to slip up on one of the most obvious things?” Sakura keeps flipping the page from front to back, back to front for the next several minutes as if the answer will magically fling itself up from the inkwork.

And in a way, the answers _do_ just fall into their lap. Only not from the direction they were expecting. Naruto feels the roiling wave of _wrong_ once again crash against his subconscious, his muscles tensing in preparation for whatever has been hanging over their heads to bare its fangs and strike.

_**“Brat. Can’t you and the rest of the chickens go bawk somewhere quieter?”** _

“Kurama!” His cheeks ache from the wide grin that splits across his face.

The resulting groan creates little waves in the layer of water covering the Kyuubi’s chamber, a massive paw moving to obscure his face. _**“That is exactly what I am talking about. Enough with the yapping and the arguing—you little brats keep waking me up.”**_

“Sorry, sorry!” Naruto feels a bit sheepish; Kurama had been working overtime in aiding him with his powers since the war began, “We’ve just been running into a lot of strange things that don’t add up. Do you feel anything too?”

An exasperated huff, _**“Well, of course it feels strange— you aren’t in your world anymore. Took almost all of my chakra to fling you idiots here.”**_ Naruto then hears him mutter something under his breath about “overbearing mothers” before returning to the task at hand.

Which is apparently explaining that they are not from this world—this universe even.

 _This is fine._ He thinks, _this is fine, this is fine, things are totally okay! I’m sure I’m just reading into things, and Kurama just means this in a fancy, figurative way! They are definitely **not aliens** currently stranded on a near-identical copy of their own world! Aliens don’t even exist!_

Naruto has known Kurama his whole life, and it's true that they haven’t always gotten along. Still, even at his most taciturn, he has never seen the fox hesitate before speaking like this.

Dread drops its lead weight inside his stomach, his mouth dry like sandpaper as he forces it open, “ ... Kurama ... ?”

 _ **“I’m sorry, but ... that world didn’t make it. Something happened—went wrong—when they tried to activate the Infinite Tsukuyomi before it was ready.”**_ Kurama inches closer until his nose gently brushes the now kneeling form of the other.

“Then everyone—did everyone—“

_**“I’m sorry, Naruto.”** _

_Then I ... failed ...?_

**___________________**

Kurama has often wished for the ability to control the size of his body. Before, it was to try to slip past the Yondaime’s sealed bars and after just to see if he could pull off a prank or two on the brat. Now, he wishes he could shrink down just enough to be able to curl protectively around the kid he’s come to think of as family. To be able to pick him up off the dirty floor without fear of crushing him.

Naruto stays where he had dropped to his knees, staring blankly ahead. Kurama tries to give comfort however he can with the occasional nudge of his nose. It’s not much help. For one of the few times in his exceptionally long life, he feels completely powerless. His ears twitch as they swivel towards the sound of displaced water followed by the splashes of rapidly approaching footsteps.

_Well look who decided to finally join them._

As Kurama continues to fight the pull of chakra exhaustion-induced sleep, he begins to count down as the Uchiha closes the distance.

_Three ..._

The boy nearly slips in his haste to reach them, returning to the same speed as soon as both feet return flat to the surface of the floor.

_Two ..._

Pinwheel eyes scan quickly around his massive body, completely ignoring his presence outside of his ability to serve as a potential marker for his jinchuriki’s location.

_One ..._

Kurama can tell the exact moment he sees him, expression breaking open with worry as he yells,

“Naruto!”

_There it is._

Maybe if the two idiots communicated outside of just screaming each other's names, a good portion of this whole mess could have been avoided.

The Uchiha skids to a halt before dropping to his knees in front of Naruto, a hand shooting out to grip an orange sleeve before it slides down to gently interlock their fingers when that doesn’t elicit a response.

_**That**. That is new. _

Kurama doesn’t know if he should be offended when arguably the most powerful Uchiha in history doesn’t even spare him a glance—not even a trace of the desire to control the legendary might of the Kyuubi within him. But sleep is fast approaching, and he can’t spend any more time dwelling on it.

 _ **“You.”**_ He turns to the boy, _**“Go to Uzushiokagure; deep within the depths under the Hokage’s tower are the answers you seek—I cannot remain awake long enough to do it myself.”**_

A determined nod. _Good._

_**“Take care of him while I sleep. I’ll eat you next time if you don’t.”** _

Kurama’s lips decidedly do _not_ curl in a smile as he makes out the “I will.” before finally falling to his exhaustion. He sure hopes Naruto knows what he’s getting into. The Uchiha clan isn’t exactly known for expressing _moderate_ levels of devotion when they stumble upon their designated morality chain.

But who is he kidding? The brat chased after him for years—he’s just as bad.

**___________________**

_3 days ago—October 12th, Year 0 P.I, 2:00 am_

Vivid nightmares are an unfortunate frequent nightly visitor for him. While he appreciates the dedication—he really does—he thinks that perhaps it’s time for the two of them to take a bit of a break from each other.

You know, the typical (and totally _normal,_ by the way _)_ “It’s not you, it’s me and my crippling addiction to working overtime and sleeping in the cot next to my desk, blah blah blah” spiel.

_People really need to learn how to appreciate a solid work ethic around here._

It’s this train of thought that keeps him from recognizing the strange grey cubic structures stretching around him as far as the eye can see—for a solid ten minutes at least. In a dimension devoid of any life, sound carries exceptionally far and well, each step impossibly magnified as he shifts slightly to the side.

 _Huh?_ The man’s brow pulls down into a solid crease. _Did I sleepwalk into Kamui or something? Is that even possible?_ Well, he knows at least one thing for sure.

This is all Itachi’s fault for switching out his coffee for the decaf version.

If he succumbs to a heart attack pursuing the noble goal of restructuring the KPD protocol and rule book from the ground up, then that’s the warrior’s death his loved ones are just going to have to come to terms with. Coffee has water in it. He is doing _fine._

Simply accepting that he has a new problematic sleeping disorder that will just have to be added to the pile of things he hides from Rin during his monthly check-ins, he tries to activate the pull in his eye that heralds each shift to the pocket realm. It stutters in place as his ears pick up the distinct drag of sandals on stone from somewhere behind him.

He sighs, leaning back on one heel in preparation to pivot, “If you’re trying to sneak up on me, I can’t think of a worse place than a man’s personal space-time dimensio—”

An echoing of metal scraping bone alongside the crackling scream of lightning jutsu has him swallowing the rest of the words in his throat. It’s the cough that gets him; the wet drag of air escaping the walls of a punctured lung— _why does that of all things sound familiar?_

The sight of some orange masked **bastard** with his hand through Kakashi’s— _Kakashi’s—_ chest has him seeing red. He rushes towards the piece of shit, hand flying to his tantō as his entire being sings the desire to carve into flesh until nothing recognizable is left. He almost makes it before the man melts into the ether, leaving only a fading Kakashi who lists heavily on his feet. His bloodied hand seizing from the brilliant light that had been encompassing it, a kunai clanging to the ground as it slips from his grip.

Obito crashes to his knees to better catch the small frame of his former teammate as he collapses. He looks the same as the last time he ever saw him, forever frozen in time, unable to grow into adulthood the way he and Rin had. Because he fucked it all up and failed. Like he always does. His arrogance had bungled everything, and Kakashi was the one to pay the price.

He brushes the ends of silver hair before Kakashi shatters into a flurry of sky-blue flowers, their bright yellow centers mockingly cheerful as they fall through his fingers. Obito’s heart and hands clench around the emptiness as he wakes to the ceiling of Konoha’s police station. He exhales in a shuddering gasp as he drags a hand down his face, only succeeding in smearing the liquid dripping from his eyes. After several minutes of useless scrubbing, he turns to look at the framed picture placed on the corner of his desk.

_Over ten years you’ve been gone, and I’m still such a mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who read this fic, left kudos, or was amazing enough to leave a comment—I can't tell you how much it made my whole week and gave me so much motivation to work on this next chapter. Also, I could never have done this without my amazing beta reader and best friend, T19K! So I hope it can make you at least half as happy as you all have made me. You are all amazing!!


	4. Shape Of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who aren’t super big into exposition/flashback chapters, don’t worry! Because of the three day weekend, I’ll MOST LIKELY be able to upload another chapter on Monday—just think of this one as my little gift to you guys for Valentine's day! For those not super big on exposition/flashback chapters but don’t want to miss anything, I’ll be putting the SparkNotes version in the notes after the chapter.

_“Things would have been so much better back then ... if we had heard each other’s voices.”_

_18 years ago, Konoha_

Kakashi has a summer funeral. It doesn’t even have the decency to rain.

Obito can’t tear his gaze away from the dandelion leaning against the corner of Kakashi’s fresh gravestone, the sound of static blocking out everything else. A warm breeze passes by, picking up the specks of white and carrying them off into the endless blue of the sky, and he finds himself incredibly jealous. How nice it would be to simply float away. Not having to deal with the revelation dealt to him by the unfeeling numbers etched into the grave below.

Kakashi had been _four years younger than him this entire time._ He thinks backwards, horrified the further he gets from the current day: jounin Kakashi was _nine_. _Nine years old._ Chunin Kakashi—genin? Even worse. The taste of iron spills across his tongue after biting into his lip hard enough to bleed, hot bile clawing its way up his throat as the numbers _six_ and _five_ glare accusingly from his mind’s eye.

Rin—beautiful, sweet, _alive_ Rin—covers her mouth with both hands in an attempt to block the gutted gasp after reaching the same conclusion as her only living teammate. She staggers to the tiny, secluded patch of freshly upturned soil; the engraving is so cheaply done it’s almost unreadable in its lazy transparency. The unsteady fashion in which she lowers herself to the ground reminds him of the marionettes from the roadside shows, how they jerked and dropped unnaturally under their cut or broken strings. There is a _clink_ of metal meeting stone as she rests her forehead against the tombstone, a gentle green glow enveloping her hands not long after as they trace slightly over the shoddy linework.

“Rin ... “ Minato’s voice cracks at the very end, undone by the image of his student in tears at the foot of Kakashi’s gravestone as she attempts the impossible task of cleansing death’s frigid touch.

“ _I’m so sorry.”_ The mantra starts off quiet, barely even a whisper. Rin’s hands have stopped moving, perhaps due to the misguided belief that their continuous motion diluted their healing potency—that she could bring him back to life if she was still enough. With every passing minute and her failures mounting, the syllables of her words begin to drag alongside her agonized wails. After what seems like an eternity, he sees Kushina lay a hand on her grief-stricken husband’s shoulder before collecting an eerily silent Rin to walk her home.

Obito can hear the sound of kids playing in the field downhill, the jingle of a wind-chime hanging over the porch of a nearby house, feel the sun warming his neck. He realizes that he wants to burn the world.

Because how dare it. How fucking _dare it_ keep moving, spinning like every day before; like nothing had changed when _Kakashi_ was gone _, gone, he was gone, and he’s never coming back and it’s all his fault._

_Had he ever really seen him smile? Laugh? Did he ... did he know people cared about him, at the very end?_

There is the distant childhood memory of a humid evening spent around a table. Before Obito got it in his thick head that Kakashi was just a rival and not a friend. The smell of a home-cooked dinner, even though he and Rin had shown up (lurked) without an invitation.

_“Amazing ... Kakashi, you’re amazing!”_ He should have given him more compliments like that.

_“ ... You think so?”_

Obito feels sick. Sick down to the bone, to the marrow, to the very fabric of his being when he hears the words a second time—the unsure question of a kid four years his junior living alone in an empty house.

_I do._ He closes his eyes against the burn of his tears. _I do think you’re amazing. I do._

_Is this hell?_ He wants to say, but instead, he asks his teacher about the night before the Kannabi bridge. Where he had shrugged off the story Minato had tried to tell about Kakashi’s father, so mired in the constructed rivalry that he didn’t want to hear anything that could damage that narrative or the righteous anger it fed.

He makes it until the part where Minato details the aftermath of Sakumo’s death.

Kakashi had found him.

Four years old.

He can’t stop the tears and the snot and the memories, all the little puzzle pieces finally falling into place, and he hates it. He doesn’t think he can live without it. His head is pounding, eyes swollen and throat burning but he can’t shut out all the echoes of the past—it’s the only thing he has left of Kakashi, now.

_“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”_

Would he have known the right tone of voice to use to avoid coming off as rude? The right facial expressions? If he was left alone to raise himself at four years old with no one to check in on him?

Sakumo had died alone and disgraced for not following the rules. He had chosen to prioritize the lives of his comrades, and his only thanks from the village he gave his life to was a slightly larger slab of stone placed a few feet away from his son’s. Kakashi, someone alone since before Obito could even bear to think about, was constantly needling him about the rules and his inability to follow them, but not because of any sense of superiority as he had always guessed.

_“Don’t be late this time, alright?”_

It was because he was worried about him.

Obito follows a grim Minato down the road from Konoha’s graveyard and from then on, saves his tears for the nights he slips through the broken window of the now-empty Hatake home. Half of the time he can’t even believe that the other boy is gone; he keeps expecting to turn a corner and run into Kakashi in the hallway—to get yelled at for once again not knocking like a normal person.

He was simply there one day and then gone the next. They didn’t get a goodbye, and no matter how desperately he begs, Minato would not let him see the body—telling him that's not how Kakashi would want to be remembered.

Sometimes, when the air is warm enough, and he’s been lucky to catch and somewhat cook a fish, he tucks himself into the corner by the bookcase with the soft green shuriken blanket. If he closes his eyes and tunes out the sounds of teardrops falling against the worn pages of the Shinobi Rule Book just right, he can almost hear it.

_“Got some of that dust in your eyes again? Shinobi shouldn’t cry.”_

Kakashi had a summer funeral. It didn’t even have the decency to rain.

**___________________**

The years pass by, and things go like this: Minato becomes Hokage, Rin falls in love, and Obito gains some (a lot of) infamy.

Obito is fourteen years old when he first opens his door to one Mikoto Uchiha. He awkwardly makes her what little tea he can in the home his grandmother left him after her passing; he expects some sort of reprimand as that seems the only plausible reason for one of the clan heads to pay him a visit. He nervously shifts the cup in his hands as they both wait for the leaves to steep.

He can’t help himself (old habits apparently die hard) when he spies the sad glint in Mikoto’s eyes, the way her lips pull down as she takes in her surroundings. When she asks him about his hobbies or dreams, he tells her he likes reading Shinobi protocols. He wants to be useful to Konoha—to get strong enough to protect everyone.

“Um ... are you alright? You look a little down.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth, as it has the woman’s delicate features pinching in confusion.

“Am _I_ alright?” It’s almost like no one has ever asked her that, with how poleaxed she looks.

“S-sorry, ma’am! That was rude of me to just assume—“

“ _Ma’am?!”_ Her mouth twists in a moue of displeasure as she reaches across the table to gently pinch one of his cheeks between two fingers, “Excuse you, but I am _still_ very much a youthful and beautiful young woman; it’s just Mikoto to you!”

It feels a bit like how things were when his grandmother was still around; despite how cold her hands are, Mikoto reveals herself to be an exceptionally warm person, just hiding it behind the traditional Uchiha shell. The sun soon dips low in the sky, and Obito finds himself disappointed to see her go.

“You know, I have to thank you for giving me the motivation I needed,” Mikoto says as she steps into the glow of one of the many lamplights lining the streets; bending down slightly and raising a finger to her lips in a conspiratorial whisper, “and just between you and me, when I want something to happen, _it better happen._ ”

She gives him one last pinch on his cheeks (“ _What, don’t make that face—my son is apparently much too grown for me to be able to fuss over him, give me this!”)_ before promising to visit again.

Elsewhere, Fugaku sighs deeply and clocks out of work early. His wife is on the warpath again. He can _sense it._

A week later, Obito opens his door to a heavily pregnant Kushina Uzumaki, who sweeps him into one of her famous cinnamon bearhugs and asks, “Would you like to live with us?”. For a while, things finally seem to be coming together instead of falling apart.

Obito is fourteen when the Kyuubi is unleashed upon Konoha, and Kushina becomes a shell of her former self.

**___________________**

Rin is twenty-two years old when she is pushed into the dreaded patient room ten and left for dead.

Well, not _really_ , but it’s the principle of the matter—the matter being her freshly brewed cup of coffee sitting alone and abandoned on the counter in the breakroom.

_Great, so I get Mr. Silent and Broody._

She’s never really seen him due to room ten being placed in a secluded corner of the wing. Still, his reputation among the other medics proceeds him—which is why, Rin supposes, this appointment has suddenly been foisted upon her by her coworkers whom she loves so dearly.

_Motherfuckers._

With her back still turned to him ( _bad manners_ , she can even hear the dragged-out _sss_ so characteristic of her mentor), she pretends she was just flipping through his chart momentarily. Not daydreaming of watching the life slowly leave her colleagues’ eyes.

“Good morning, my name is Rin, and I’ll be your medic today!” She puts on her shiniest customer service veneer and turns to face the music.

The much younger than she had assumed, scowling, handsome music.

_Oh gods, oh fuck oh no—okay okay it’s fine it’s cool, people are just born hot sometimes let’s not make a big deal out of it and oh no! I’m gonna have to get close since nobody took his vitals oh no, no—_

The enduring silence eventually reminds her that she is still _at her job_. The fluorescent lighting hums in the background as she notices that the man just didn’t feel like responding to her greeting.

_That’s okay. Not everyone has to be chatty; let's just get this over with._

She walks over to a nearby stool, settling as comfortably as she can before flipping to the “reason for visit” section of his intake paperwork, “So it says here that you’re due for a checkup for work, is there anything you want to talk about specifically?”

“No.” The man says, clearly intent on explaining nothing.

_Alright, giving me a lot to work with here._ Rin devotes every scrap of her spare attention to maintaining a polite and workplace-appropriate face as she goes through his chart more thoroughly.

A snort stops her finger just short of “Anbu / developing blindness via repeated eye-trauma.” To her mortification Rin realizes that she must have muttered that last bit under her breath; she whips her head up in preparation for an apology until she sees the small smile now on _Itachi’s_ face.

“First time here someone actually has some personality.”

_Fuck it,_ she thinks as she feels some of the tightly-coiled stress leave her body, “Did you know they grabbed me and put me in here before I could even drink my _first_ cup of coffee today? It’s still sitting on the counter, cold and alone.”

“Ah, I knew there was a reason I didn’t like the other providers.”

“ _Thank you.”_

As Rin sends Itachi home with her explicit orders to stop using his damn eyes and to direct anyone who disagrees with her diagnosis her way, she belatedly realizes that she never really stood a chance.

**___________________**

Obito is twenty when he reads the letter. Danzo finds him kneeling over a shoddy gravestone with his throat screamed raw and arm ravaged by flash burns, the bandaged man’s words managing to cut through the deluge of the rain and the “ _I’m really glad I met you”_ playing on repeat in Obito’s head.

Gives him a seal on his tongue, a mask on his face, and points his grief and rage towards a target perfect for soothing the sting of mourning someone he didn’t know he loved until it was too late.

It feels a lot like revenge, and Obito drowns in it—the blood and the screams, the groaning creak of wood and steel rending flesh as he takes to the battlefield alone (always, _always alone_ ) and gives Kiri’s forces the agonizing deaths they deserve.

He is twenty-one when he is categorized as a “flee-on-sight” level threat. As if running had ever helped any of his targets.

He is twenty-four when Rin corners him in his hospital bed after a mission gone especially bad, breaking down into tears as she begs him not to leave her too.

_"Please don’t leave me all alone, Obito."_

Obito is twenty-five when he somehow finds himself responsible for an emotionally stunted former assassin with a love for painting and taking every book he reads too literally.

He no longer works for Danzo but is still sworn to silence, Minato’s distaste for the commander held back by the thin thread of professional decency. He goes to his new job every day and tackles a mountain of paperwork—while it’s not as satisfying as the breaking of bones, the steady metronome of fingers against keyboard helps him not think for a while.

He is thirty-one, chief of Konoha Police, and still misses Kakashi like a phantom limb—deifying the dead and unwilling to let go.

**___________________**

Kakashi is twenty-seven when he crash lands into another world and is set on a collision course with destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, no tea no shade Kishimoto, but trying to pin down your timeline ages is a NIGHTMARE. I am a firm believer in Kishi’s original timeline for Kakashi’s ages, but due to the fact that numbers hurt my head, I’m just gonna make Itachi around his same age instead of younger.
> 
> Sparknotes Time: 
> 
> -Fun time funeral flashback, Rin and Obito learn Kakashi’s age and they Do Not Deal With It well.
> 
> -Minato becomes Hokage as in the OG.
> 
> -Mikoto terrorizes the rest of the Uchiha clan into submission to enable Kushina and Minato to officially adopt Obito.
> 
> -The Kyuubi attack still happens.
> 
> -Rin gets a new patient (Itachi) but Oh No He's Hot.
> 
> -Obito reads a certain letter and deals Even Worse with that, Danzo creeps from the shadows near Kakashi’s grave and is like “Hey kid, want some terrible coping mechanisms with a side of wanton slaughter?” and Obito says “Sure mister why not, what could possibly go wrong?”
> 
> -Turns out making your sole hobby out of killing Kiri and Kumo nin is not a healthy way to deal with your grief, who knew?
> 
> -Rin has an “addiction to murdering anyone with even the slightest link to Kiri or Kumo” intervention, actually succeeds.
> 
> -Obito gets his own ill-adjusted teen to awkwardly raise and joins Konoha’s police department.


	5. How To Lose Arms And Un-Alienate People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, YOU KNOW, YOU SEE—I HAD THIS ALL OUTLINED AND WRITTEN OUT FOR MONDAY AND THEN THE DONKEY HEIST AND WORK HAPPENED IM SO SORRY. I hope the whiplash from “Obito’s Wild Ride To the Depths of Depression” to “Sasuke and Sakura Commit Petty Property Theft” doesn’t break you the way it did me.

_Single father of three (child soldiers) seeks eye donor._

_October 18th, Year 0 P.I._

Kakashi looks on in abject despair as the flock of pigeons flee from their perch on the branch closest to his resting spot. He was _this_ close to developing a sensible romantic subplot between the two birds that had been quarreling over who knows what for the past ten minutes.

_I … fucking miss my books._

It’s his last mournful thought as he turns to the newly elected Hokage of The Hidden Village of Fun Ruiners Who Wish To Ruin My Day. A finger is angrily shaking in his direction, frantic as a worm on a hook.

“We aren’t just leaving you alone out here like a sitting duck. Are you insane?!” Naruto’s voice rises perilously high, completely forgoing common sense when in unknown territory or just uncaring of it.

It appears his suggestion to the group has been vetoed. Despite the original plan, they have never once broken off from each other for anything since their ill-fated landing in the woods.

 _It’s fine._ Kakashi attempts to reason with himself, _This definitely isn’t creating any codependent habits..._

_...right?_

Naruto continues his tirade on the safety of traveling in numbers, gesticulating wildly with his one arm—the tie on his other sleeve falling loose and flipping about like a child wearing their parent’s overly large shirt. The other two Team Seven members stand nearby, their flat expressions signaling precisely what they think of Kakashi’s idea.

 _Mission failed_.

If only he had a convenient boulder to aid his cause. He could just take a nice little break and then reappear some years later, no harm done, and all it would cost would be trapping the world in a massive genjutsu using the _entire ass moon._

As the argument seems to have switched from a Naruto vs. Kakashi situation into a distinctly Naruto vs. Sasuke one (“Could you _maybe_ not alert every hostile presence and their mother to our location, idiot?”), he takes the time to sort through his “Behaviors That Indicate To Others That You Are Mentally Well Adjusted, So People Don’t Get Weird & Start Asking Questions” flowchart.

Whatever last-ditch effort he attempts to contort the visible portion of his face into will be entirely constructed in the end anyway. A cowardly lie—just like all his excuses about helping old ladies, getting lost on the road of life, that he even knew what he was doing after being saddled with three kids, undeserving of those eyes that now speak of trust and sometimes even affection when he’s nothing but trash, _he’s trash he couldn’t save Dad, he couldn’t save Rin he couldn’t save Obito why is he so stupid he can’t protect anyone he’s going to get his kids **killed** he’s—he’s—_

There is bottomless black, slate coal and pressure on his shoulder that is more gentle than its owner ever wants anyone to know.

“Kakashi.”

His vision swims into focus ( _When did he leave it? Strike seven-thousand Hatake, real Anbu captain level shit there—right in front of the kids too, great job)._ The hand squeezes tighter. It’s enough to draw him back into his body to the point he can recognize the figure in front of him.

“My my, Sasuke, I never knew you had such feelings ... but ... unfortunately, my heart belongs to another~”

The unimpressed glare leveled his way is worth every bit of questioning he will undoubtedly be subjected to by his darling little genins and chunin later. It’s almost enough to have him lower the arm now swanned over his forehead like one of Jiraiya’s wilting heroines. _Almost._

“I have no idea how Sakura managed to distract Naruto with supply trip planning. He’s still pretty out of it, but next time even he’ll notice. An absolute moron except for when it’s inconvenient to one of us apparently,” comes the dry explanation from number three of a worryingly large number of Uchihas in Kakashi’s life to give him a splitting headache.

_Is this how Tobirama felt all the time?_

Kakashi musters up the most bullshit saccharine smile in his arsenal, “How thoughtful of you. Around twenty more acts of kindness, and I might absolve you of one war crime!”

A critical hit. He’s seen the exact same eye twitch on Itachi. Maybe if he’s lucky, Sasuke really will kill him and then lecture Naruto and Sakura on cultivating hatred. Maybe then he can finally rest.

Alas, before he can continue to needle his sweet, prodigal student, his doom whirls into view—a cotton candy pink rage, the type that carries a ninety-five percent probability of someone’s bones being pummeled into the pathetic dust from which they originated.

“Your turn!” comes the sing-song that fails to match, even a little bit, the thunderous rictus on his sweet little chunin’s face.

Sasuke hesitates as if he is about to argue before self-preservation kicks in, almost dragging his feet as he makes his way across the camp. Leaning to the side, Kakashi can see him begin to fuss with the still loose sleeve of Naruto’s jacket, swatting off the other boy’s attempts to convince him that he can do it himself.

“You have _one_ arm” is really the only statement needed to silence the flailing boy’s protests—he grumpily submits himself to a clueless Sasuke’s ministrations, a faint blush rising high on his cheeks.

Kakashi idly wonders if he should start a betting pool with Sakura. By his estimation, it won’t be another five years until the boys wrap their brains around what they really are to each other. That’s a lot of time for money to rack up interest.

Seemingly fed up with being kept waiting, Sakura clears her throat loudly to remind him that she isn’t done with him; she hasn’t even started, really. Kakashi sighs wistfully as he reflects on his almost-murder via repeated stabbing by his erstwhile student (who has just been clipped in the chin by a newly resisting Naruto). His ticket to eternal rest dashed against the cruel rocks before he even got the chance to love it.

...

_Maybe there is something a little bit wrong with him._

Sakura grins as if Tsunade had gifted her telepathy alongside a terrifying tolerance for alcoholic beverages.

He’s really in for it now.

___________________

Sakura purses her lips around a smile as Sasuke and Naruto once again bicker over each other like an old married couple. It’s a sight that should do nothing but rip the scab off of the wound of losing their world, but she can only find a fond nostalgia for it; perhaps it is just enough to fool her into truly believing that this is all just a dream.

It seems as if Kakashi has a similar outlook, with how soft his gaze becomes whenever she catches him watching any of them. It’s a bit strange how different yet similar he is to the man she fought alongside in the Fourth Shinobi War not too long ago. He is attentive in the way he was when they were just children, but not quite—where in the past there had been an ever-present barrier between them, she can now sense the warmth hiding behind every lazy smile.

Which is why, she supposes, it had hurt to see him shut down like that in front of Sasuke. It’s not that she has never seen anything like it before, or that she was even surprised; no, it had been relentless tragedy following tragedy since they had found themselves in the other world.

First, there had been the grappling with the loss of everyone they had ever known or become even slightly fond of (Sakura had broken down in tears behind a tree not a few days ago after the revelation that she would never see her favorite shopkeeper again, _ridiculous_ ). Then the day when they all realized they could no longer summon, the contracts and their owners meeting the same fate as everything else (she tries not to think of the gutted look on Naruto’s face as he is forced to accept another way in which he has lost Jiraiya).

The cart they had “liberated” from the lantern merchant had been an integral part of their newly assumed identities until reaching Uzushiokagure. However, there was one small catch—it was heavy, it was unwieldy, and they had only six arms among them. Sakura was not so much a sadist to tie two one-armed men together and observe this world’s most fucked up team-building exercise, and Kakashi ...

Kakashi has absolutely no stamina at all.

She supposes it’s just a rite of growing up, seeing your paren— _authority_ figure’s limitations and flaws that aren’t related to excessive alcohol consumption or pornographic novel purchases. He had definitely given it a good try. She hides another smile behind her hand as she remembers the vein bulging from the man’s neck as he pulled the heavy cart for several miles.

How he had wobbled to the nearest tree after setting it down with trembling arms, collapsing against it confessing, “ ... I can’t do it.”

It’s a good thing that he’s still against that very same spot, watching the mating dance of the two most idiotic birds she’s ever seen in her life; she has some serious interrogating ahead, and it wouldn’t do for him to see her breaking form already.

She makes a show of clearing her throat, has to do it several times with increasing volume before getting through Kakashi’s eardrums and into his thick head. Now that Sakura knows the difference, she finds herself hating the smiles that don’t reach his eye.

“And what can I do for my favorite chunin student?” He says, clearly thinking he can get out of this by being annoying.

Her response is deadpan, “I’m your _only_ chunin student.”

“Ah.”

She crosses her arms as she stares down at the deflecting man, beginning to lose her resolve.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” It comes out much softer than she had anticipated as she finds herself drifting into yet another memory.

Kakashi brings a hand to his chin, musing, “Hmm ... we should probably look into finding something to pull this cart—it’s hard being an old man.”

Sakura knows there is the opportunity to push more, but she hesitates, and that’s all the chance needs to slip away.

“Okay.”

It’s as she sits down beside him in the shade that Sakura realizes that she doesn’t really know much about her team at all. The way her old teacher’s gaze drifts off as they rest, unfocused, into the distance is identical to what she saw during her time as Tsunade’s apprentice.

The ones most proficient in the swift shutting down, the masking, the dissociation; were always Anbu. She steals a glance at a clothed shoulder—would she find a black mark there, too?

Something terrible tells her that he wouldn’t have just been Anbu, but a captain. Those were always the worst. She hated having to treat them during her time in the hospital; nothing she said ever made a dent in their lack of self-preservation, and it was always, _always_ only a matter of time before they were killed in action. There wasn’t even a body for their loved ones to mourn, if they had any, as they were indoctrinated to _destroy their own bodies_ if they found themselves compromised.

This time, when Kakashi catches her staring (again) and crinkles an eye into his warm half-moon, Sakura finds herself incredibly sad in place of her usual annoyance.

Does she really know all that much about _any_ of Team Seven? Sure, she knows Naruto wants to be Hokage and that Sasuke hates sweets—knows Kakashi’s favorite book series. But does she know, or even _ask_ all that often about the things that bother them? The reason why they shut down or lash out in anger, the things that had always been tucked away into the category of them “just being difficult” and never moved since she was thirteen?

She winces as shame churns hot inside her gut. Gods, the way she had acted as a child—the things she had said—the things she had said to _Naruto._ What a selfish teammate she was, a selfish daughter, a selfish friend _,_ muscles tensing as she hides her inner turmoil from any potential onlookers.

_You’ve dumped enough of your troubles on them, don’t you think?_

She misses Ino—misses her so much her sight blurs despite her best efforts. She wishes she could apologize to her for all her shitty mistakes. Ino was a much better Shinobi, a much better _person_ than she could ever be, and yet, Sakura is still alive while Ino is not.

A hand finds its way on top of her head, semi-gloved fingers gently ruffling a few strands of pink hair. It surprises her into unclenching her now aching jaw, blinking away moisture as she looks up towards the appendage’s owner.

“You know, I wasn’t lying. You worked very hard to get chunin—even became a medic-nin just to help Naruto and Sasuke, too. I’m ...” Sakura cracks a watery smile at the sight of a man who reads erotica in public embarrassed over openly praising his student.

“... I’m very proud of you for that.”

She playfully elbows him under the arm still hanging over her, snickering at his exaggerated grunt upon impact.

 _What a ridiculous man,_ she thinks.

And then, looking across the road at a dozing Naruto and loose-lidded Sasuke—who can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his loudly snoring counterpart, expression borderline adoring,

_I can do better, be better, for them._

They make eye contact, Sasuke freezing minutely before Sakura tears a page from Kakashi’s (non-literal) book, wagging an eyebrow suggestively as she looks from one of the pair to the other. Several things war with themselves on the Uchiha’s face before he huffs and looks away, a quirk to his lips escaping the usually watertight seal on his emotions.

 _Can we be friends?_ She wants to ask. Instead, she pulls her knees to her chest, teetering to one side to steal a peek at the new (discount, non-Icha Icha) book in Kakashi’s hands.

Her eyes scan over the two pages, at first looking for the scandalous but then sucked into the plot of the thing.

_Wait a minute ..._

“ ... ?! This isn’t porn!”

___________________

Sasuke has done many things in his life—a lot of “illegal” things, he can get off on a technicality on the vast majority—but even his most intricate plans for revolution have failed to factor in this. He stamps down the childish surge of something bright and weightless in his chest as he assesses their current mission objective:

His team needs a donkey, and he and Sakura are going to _get them one._

“Aww, looks like another strikeout.” His accomplice doesn’t even try to sound disappointed, the barely contained giddiness threaded into her speech.

Even from the distance their viewpoint is located, he can see the drooping of Naruto’s shoulders as the owner of the farmstead they had stumbled upon slams a door in his face. Kakashi wilts a bit next to him before quickly switching to comforting the downcast man beside him—patting a hand awkwardly on his back as he leans down to try to cheer him up.

This is apparently to some success, as Naruto springs up soon after and resumes his knocking even in the face of the old man’s now screaming obscenities. Usually, he would call his rival’s attempts at convincing the man to sell one of his few beasts of burden a lost cause, but he’s seen first hand what magic his speeches can work. However, things seem to be progressing poorly. After only a few minutes the re-negotiation has escalated to the man throwing his kitchenware at the two, attempting to scare them off like one would a couple of strays. Kakashi tries his best to mediate before the impact of a cast-iron frying pan to the face lays him out flat and for the count.

He most decidedly is _not_ disguising a laugh as a cough into his arm when he is jostled from his thoughts by Sakura’s hand energetically shaking him. Part of him still expects some insipid comment about his hair or something similar to leave her mouth but is pleasantly surprised upon diverting his attention from the flaming trainwreck developing below them.

Her finger points past their original target of the elderly donkey, towards a stable in the distance that houses a much younger chestnut brown mule,

“There’s our girl.”

Between this new version of Sakura and the fact that Naruto is employing honest to god _subterfuge_ —crocodile tears streaming down his face as he laments the inevitable death of his “father,” blocking off the farmer’s view of Kakashi laying dazed (but alive) in the mud to better sell his tale—Sasuke entertains the split-second urge to pinch himself before proceeding. He spies two farmhands lingering a few feet away from the building, one dozing against a fencepost and the other flinging clumps of dirt into an empty bucket. _Easy._

_Alright. I’m in._

He nods, a quick jerk of his chin, signaling for Sakura to take the lead. After all, it was her plan—so he’s not sure why the surprised gratitude on her face as she uses familiar hand signals to path their course fills him with the most camaraderie he has ever felt for the medic-nin now crouching low as she stealthy descends a grassy knoll.

It's no time at all before they find themselves pressed against the rotting wood of the stable’s walls, the wet impact of each dirt clod hitting the side of the bucket easily obscuring any noise that could have slipped from the two. Naruto’s hoarse voice echoes from the front of the property, his wailing over funerary woes as a one-armed orphan with no money or donkey to speak of finally cracking the old man’s hardened exterior as he pleads for him to not sue.

As the next _thump_ against the bucket rings out, they make the turn to enter the straw-floored interior of the building. The mule gives them a baleful look after first noticing they are not alone but makes no noise to alert her jailors. Sasuke watches as Sakura clenches and unclenches her fists—flexing them—while scrutinizing the animal, almost as if she is trying to judge from sight alone if she can fluidly pick up the struggling creature and make a swift enough escape on her own.

Upon the realization that his interpretation is, in fact, correct, he unsheaths Kusanagi with one hand and mouths that he will “take care of the two outside.”

“ _What?”_ she hisses, turning to look over her shoulder like he suddenly has a third Sharingan in the middle of his forehead, “ _we are **not** killing them.”_

He tries to hide his chagrin at her scolding (he _probably_ wouldn’t have ended up killing them), the _snik_ of his blade sliding home to its handguard. As Sakura draws closer to their quarry, he steps out of the open entryway—making just enough noise to alert the two farmhands.

“Oi! What the hell are you doing here?!” Dirt-Clod Man spits out a glob of something that smells truly horrible, and Sasuke exerts so much of his willpower and energy into not immediately resorting to violence that his mind blanks.

“ ... Do you sell tomatoes here?”

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The instructor of the BLS course, telling us about the updated way to give respirations: “So that’s when you grab the ambu bag ...”
> 
> Me, who hears it as “Anbu bag” and is suddenly sweating: “The what.”
> 
> But got damn, this chapter really fought me. Everyone who left kudos or one of the AMAZING comments on the previous chapters thank you so much, god I cannot put into words the sheer dopamine rush I experience each time I hear from you! Even if you just clicked to give a short read, I really appreciate you too—it’s such a weird feeling to see that other people actually want to read anything I write, let alone actually enjoy it! 
> 
> Also a huge shout out to my beta-reader for carrying me through Bozjan Southern Front’s new raid, homie literally rezzed my dumb screaming ass over twenty times at LEAST. They are the only reason I left that place early enough to publish this by Sunday.


	6. Stray Ninken Strut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YOU COOL CATS AND KITTENS, BEHOLD MY MAGNUM OPUS OF ONLY BEING ABLE TO WRITE ON MY 15 MINUTE BREAKS. Thank you for your patience <3.

_“Jet, did you know that there are three things that I particularly hate?”_

_??? ???, Year ???_

“—ashi ... !”

_...?_

“ ...ey, Ka ...ashi!”

_Is someone calling his name?_

“ ... asleep?! Unbeliev—”

_They sound ..._

“Wake the hell up; you’re gonna miss it!”

_... annoying._

Kakashi winces as he instinctively tries to comply, eyelids fluttering and head pounding while the world spins around him. This time, the godawful shouting is followed by the shaking of shoulders that feel much too small to be his.

_Head hurts._

It has to be the voice’s fault, he decides, a frown already pulling at his lips as he opens his eyes to a beautiful starlit night sky.

Well, what would be a beautiful night if not for the garish orange headwear obscuring the view. Its owner looks down at him with a petulant scowl, eyebrows knitted in irritation as he continues his tirade.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, would fall asleep right before something like this! What’s next? You gonna start showing up late to everything?”

He blanches at the mental image; he would rather endure one of Rin’s cafes every day for the next five years than ever arrive anywhere later than _Obito_.

“Shut up, moron.” he pushes away the offending hands before turning to press a cheek to the cool grass below—all the better to glare at his lecturer.

The throbbing headache finally feels less like a percussion band set loose inside his skull, enabling him to think beyond the most basic ideas.

_How ... did I get here, again?_

His mind churns sluggishly as he tries to remember, only achieving an instance of blurred colors and shapes—then a sharp pain preceding darkness.

“Look, look! It’s about to start!” Obito points skywards, ignorant of the other boy’s confusion in his own exuberance; his head lays cushioned by his other arm as he reclines in the meadow.

Against his better judgment, Kakashi finds himself abandoning the previous train of thought, instead choosing to follow the extended arm's direction. It’s nice where he is—there isn’t any stress or grief, and the summer air rests light on his skin like a well-loved blanket. For once, he and Obito aren’t fighting; he even got scolded for something rules-related. Maybe he won’t have to worry about him so much anymore.

_Maybe we can actually be friends._

There’s the threat of a tiny smile as he glances over at the still ranting Uchiha, one that he wouldn’t really mind being seen if he no longer had his mask. For once, Kakashi finally gets to feel his age, probably losing sleep before some semi-important event to go play hooky under the stars with the ninja world’s biggest idiot.

Obito traces a finger over the constellation of what he tries to explain is a swan, the name mispronounced or simply ugly as he points out the tips of wings and then a beak. Kakashi takes hold of the wicked impulse that shoots through him once the amateur astrologer pauses, glancing at him in expectation of some sort of response.

“Oh. I wasn’t listening.” He’s thankful for his mask but forgets the way his eyes betray him when he finds something truly funny.

The other boy turns his head from his stargazing position, annoyance quickly morphing into an outraged squawk upon seeing Kakashi’s failure to completely smother his glee, “Wa—was that a _joke_ just now?!”

He has to raise a hand to smother it this time, or else he’ll _really_ be in trouble if the snicker gets out. Obito hears it anyway, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as he stares at Kakashi like it’s the first time they’ve ever met.

 _I think ... that I’m_ _happy_.

It starts slowly. At first, Kakashi almost thinks it’s a trick of the eye when the first star leaps across the expanse above. One star, then two, three, four stars pursue the other in their descent, echoed soon after by a deluge of smaller brilliant streaks—the colors of their burning trails weaving a vibrant tapestry in the dark night sky as they breach the atmosphere.

“See?” his teammate whispers from close by as if any loud noise could scare the celestial event off, “I told you it would be cool.”

Those ridiculous goggles are finally off, abandoned to the patch of grass between them. Kakashi tries to push down how his heart seizes, aching at the sight; how his nose is suddenly filled with dust and dirt, his eye a burning sting behind the socket. He’s not sure if he wants to remember anymore.

Curling into himself, his arms press against the thin material of his shirt in an attempt to trap what little heat they can; the previously balmy summer air has turned frigidly cold, but like he’ll ever admit that short sleeves were _perhaps_ not the best idea. He closes his eye against its still throbbing pain, the soothing familiarity of it washing over him in an instant wave.

Even with one eye out of commission, he stares up at the shooting stars for quite some time, content, before a woman’s voice calls out from the woods on the edge of the meadow’s clearing.

It’s his name.

“Kakashi, where are you? It’s way past your bedtime, young man!” Her voice is sharp, but not angrily so—it's merely a strange cadence.

Rising up on his elbows, he whips his head towards the direction the call had come from. It’s not too long until she seeks him out again.

“Don’t make me send your father out; you know he has a better nose than I do!”

“Sounds like your mom is looking for you—better get going.” Obito’s gaze continues to flit across his face as if he is trying to commit something to memory. Kakashi distantly wonders if he got something in his eye too, from the way the other boy’s closed lid mirrors his own.

“My ... mom?” The word fumbles out, unfamiliar as his mouth tries to shape itself around it.

The waxy skin of crushed flower petals curl under the bare skin of his elbow, pale blues surrounding sunshine-yellow pistils that stare so earnestly upwards he can almost imagine they are trying to tell him something.

It makes him hesitate. He doesn’t want to get up, “But, what if I get lost?”

“That’s easy. I’ll just have to find you, then!” Obito says it as if it is both the most common sense thing in the world and a solemn vow, all in one.

“ ... promise?” His face burns as soon as the mumbled word escapes.

_Ugh. That was so lame._

“Cross my heart.” A hand reaches across the space separating them and over glimmering orange lenses, joining fingers with his own before bringing them to rest over the faint beat of his promise, “I’ll always come running.”

Kakashi tries to jerk away—expecting to come into contact with nothing, just the empty space where a heart should be. When he meets solid warmth, can feel the thrum of life beneath a steadily breathing chest, he finds himself pressing his hand wonderingly against the surprise of it.

A familiar pull tugs at him from beyond his subconscious; it’s recent, but not the first time he’s dreamt something like this. But, maybe—maybe if he can convince himself that this world is real, he can stay for a little while longer.

_Yeah, just a little longer ..._

Overhead, the stars haven’t stopped falling.

“I miss you.” The boy across from him draws back, startled. It's funny, he thinks, that he can even catch his own dreams off-guard by going too far off-script.

“What ... ? You’ve never said something like that befo—”

“Sorry.” He knows he doesn’t deserve to have this, not when the real Obito's thoughts on his failures have been made very apparent.

_“Do you feel guilty ...”_

The cognition of his old teammate refuses to let go, but besides how fucked up that must make his mental state, he isn’t overly concerned.

_“Because you couldn’t keep your promise to me?”_

“Hey! Kakashi—wait!” The sky-blue petals pull mercilessly at his clothing; a sailor about to be spirited away by the cruel tide of the sea.

The dream will end any time now.

“I said _**wait**_ ...!”

___________________

_October 18th, Year 0 P.I._

The last several minutes have been complete and total silence, Dirt Clod Man clearly unarmed by a simple inquiry. The muddied ball of soil drops from his limp hand and impacts loudly on the semi-frosted ground, the echoing _splat_ enough to wake his sleeping counterpart. Rancid breath that makes him have to (once again) physically restrain from instinctual violence hangs open, a thin line of drool already drying on a poorly shaved chin as the farmhand attempts to formulate a thought.

Not that Sasuke would expect anything else from the absolute pinnacle of intellect standing before him.

His patience is further tested by the nasally—because of course, it is—voice of the slighter of the two as he wipes the crust from his eyes.

“Was’ he doing here?” Dopey scritches his hand through a straw-colored bowl-cut before inserting a finger into his left nostril. Sasuke never thought he would come to think of Lee’s sense of style as superior to anything, but here he is an entire universe away, so he supposes stranger things can and have happened.

“Somethin’ bout some girly vegetable, like we grow any o’ those here!”

Dopey dissolves into an exaggerated fit of cackles—clearly a survival mechanism created after prolonged periods of time around the moronic mountain of anger issues that is Dirt Clod Man, who soon joins in chuckling after one of his obvious trademark zingers.

“I’m _right here_.” The combination of the two’s laughter alongside the shrieking grind of Sasuke’s molars drowns out the inelegant snort from Sakura inside the stable, who obviously has enough free time to pass judgment on the donkey stealing plans of others.

As the two continue to converse as if Sasuke were merely a piece of furniture, he again hears the blade's siren song from the sheath on his back. At least, he does for a moment before the dejected imaginary face of Naruto springs to mind alongside the distinct _thud_ of a spotlight turning on to better illuminate the unshed tears sparkling in the other man’s eyes.

“Sasuke, I thought you had changed.” He sniffles, hands clenched tightly to his chest as he shoots one last regretful look behind him—leaving forever into the darkness beyond.

A bolt of lightning shoots down his spine, leaving him ramrod straight and determined to solve his current predicament in the most peaceful, gentle way anyone in this godsforsaken alternate world has ever seen.

_I can do this. I **can** be nice._

Dirt and Dopey have finished their two-man comedy routine and are seemingly satisfied enough with themselves to turn back to their now spirited intruder. Sasuke forces creaking, unused muscles into action to create his approximation of a pleasant and friendly smile. To everyone else, it can only be described as an extremely threatening grimace.

Somewhere, a rooster crows distantly.

His two new friends seemed to have been lulled into a sense of newfound companionship if their absolute silence is anything to go by. Closing his eyes, he gives himself a smug (mental) pat on the back.

 _Mission accomplished_.

In this newfound silence of friendship, the sound of a metal lock attempting to shake free from its latch rings clear as a bell. The two farmhands look from Sasuke to the now rattling door with increasing panic, torn between their obligation to prevent potential theft and the desire to avoid grievous bodily harm. As he focuses on seeing if Sakura has made any progress on the lock, he picks up the unmistakable sound of poorly smothered snickering from behind the door.

On second thought, maybe things weren’t so bad when she thought everything he did was unquestionably cool.

He feels a muscle in his jaw tick as he devotes every cell in his body to the Herculean effort of hiding his building irritation. It wouldn't do to ruin the very friendly, and not at all terrifying expression specifically crafted to show the two men in front of him that he means absolutely no harm _._ He has never entertained fantasies of violence a day in his life.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Dirt makes a mad dash towards the stable. Sasuke is elated that he has Sakura as his witness to show Naruto that he really, _really_ did try to take the high road this time.

“Hey.” The two men freeze instantly, sweat beading on the backs of their necks before they turn to face the strange man who has been leaking killing intent from the moment he stepped onto their property. “I said _,_ do you sell them or not?”

He doesn’t really care to hear their answer as the tomoe in his eyes spin awake. He has the perfect idea for a distraction, and technically, it won’t be his fault if any injury is inflicted. The genjutsu settles over the unsuspecting men’s nervous systems, and an explosion of rotted wood alerts Sasuke to the fact that Sakura has apparently had more than enough of the rusty lock impeding their plans. Running for the hills, she doesn’t even spare a glance back as the mule brays frantically from its position slung over one shoulder.

Dirt turns to yell his orders to give chase to his henchman, meaty hands freezing midair as they rise to point in the direction of the pink-haired medic. Which is, of course, precisely what Sasuke wants.

“D-demon! Dark magicks!” Dopey trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between himself and the towering, bipedal mule that has taken the place of his comrade. He scuttles backward, like a crab, only stopping once his back impacts against the exterior of the now-empty stable. He pleads to some god that Sasuke cares much too little about to actually register, knowing that only hoarse whinnies meet the ears of the man across from him.

Unsurprisingly, Dirt reacts to confusion with anger and violence.

Wasting no time, he lunges for a nearby pitchfork. The resulting screams from his victim as the illusion depicts a massive mule grasping a weapon between two hooves pitches high enough to disrupt the legal battle at the front of the farmstead. Naruto and the owner soon skid around the corner of the main house, the elderly man’s face whitening considerably once the sharp prongs of Dirt’s demon mule slaying weapon sink themselves into the flesh of Dopey’s thigh.

It’s valuable data to know that is enough to break the genjutsu—next time, he’ll have to tweak some things for maximum farm animal terror.

“Uncle!”

_Wow, begging for mercy already?_

“What in the gods' name are you two thinking?!” Apparently the man is, in fact, Dopey’s uncle and he is not already buckling under a little pain—a point that drags a begrudging amount of respect from Sasuke.

The bowl-haired man points one of his elongated, boney fingers straight at him, stopping to shriek once Dirt resumes his concerted effort to vanquish the unclean equine spirit, the prongs of the pitchfork yanking free with a wet squelch. As Dopey limp-runs his way towards them, he screeches loud enough to overpower the guttural battle cries from the juggernaut intent on ending his life.

“Sorcerer!” He barely ducks in time before the makeshift weapon embeds itself into the side of a chicken coop, feathers flying from a nearby window alongside panicked clucking, “A dark sorcerer cursed us with magicks—he did!"

 _As if anyone would seriously buy that_ , Sasuke thinks, before a burning gaze ignites at the back of his head. Hesitating for only the briefest and _tiniest_ of moments, he turns to meet the flat, unamused glare from Naruto, who crosses his arms as he awaits a proper excuse. He _**tried**_ , he really did—he even has Sakura as backup to corroborate the uphill trajectory of his morality journey. If anything, this is _progress_.

He is about to convey this so the disappointment on his rival’s face will not haunt Sasuke’s dreams for the next several weeks until the crunch of sandals on semi-frozen ground alerts him to the new development of his and Sakura’s rapidly devolving plan. Naruto’s ears perk up at the sound; brief puzzlement, then dawning horror etching across his face as he puts two and two together. But it’s too late. Their former teacher reaches them in little time, even with his lazy pace, stopping directly behind the elderly man who Naruto had just convinced murdered his “father” in cold blood.

Flicking his eyes desperately from one member of Team Seven to the other, Naruto gives one last attempt at preventing the house of cards that is their day from crashing into a miserable little pile upon the ground. The uncle’s teeth chatter, his whole body seizing in an attempt to suppress a shiver—time itself seems to freeze as he turns to look over his shoulder.

“Yo.” Kakashi raises a hand in one of his customary greetings, a truly impressive black eye already blooming on his face.

And because the two goons still chasing each other around the property had to have inherited their brilliant deduction skills from somewhere, the man’s pallor becomes near translucent—his mouth stretching impossibly wide in terror.

“G-gho-ghost ... !”

“Rude.” Even under a swiftly darkening sky and the mask covering the jounin’s face, Sasuke can see the other man’s exaggerated pout. He is beginning to doubt that Kakashi can take much of anything seriously—an eccentric, layabout idiot from birth.

And then, as most of Team Seven’s plans do, everything goes to shit.

___________________

_October 26th, Year 0 P.I._

Fake crying, Naruto realizes, takes up a lot of energy. Or, maybe it could be the loss of his arm combined with the ravages of interdimensional travel upon his fragile mortal body. There really is no way to be sure.

... it’s probably fake crying.

A log cracks from within the nearby fire pit, collapsing in on itself and launching burning embers towards the stars like a host of fireflies. He watches as they propel themselves skywards, desperate to reach the waning moon hanging above as they slowly lose their glow against the fall chill.

It’s been quiet since the farmstead. The two men had run off in the direction of Konoha for an exorcist (do they even have those?), their uncle barricading himself inside his home. Naruto had tried to smooth things over the best he could. Still, the man’s nephews must have met neighbors early on the road, the clamor of an approaching group of people resulting in Kakashi sweeping him and Sasuke both under his arms like a canine scruffing its unruly children before dashing back to camp.

He snorts as he remembers the look on the Uchiha’s face from underneath their former teacher’s carry— identical in appearance to a scolded, resentful cat. Bark snags the material of his thinning jacket when he reflexively flinches away from shooting pain that lances from arm to shoulder, knocking his head against the bark of a tree with a dull _thunk_.

Maybe they had overdone it in their last excursion.

Because they were a team now— _again_. It’s a warm and fuzzy thing to latch onto to distract from the agony in his body from sudden movement; the heaviness in his chest whenever he sees a flash of red hair, books lining the shelves of a window display, a brunet’s gentle smile with an imagined scar across their nose.

He is mindful of his re-healing stitching this time as he shimmies to make himself more comfortable, eyes drawn to the inevitable pull of _something_ he still can’t describe. Sasuke beats him to the punch, already looking over at him while Sakura scolds a brick wall as she frets about his bandages.

His face is warm—everything is always so warm when he remembers that Sasuke is back, wants to be here, wants to be around him. It only increases when he finds himself the sole recipient of one of those small, honest smiles he has begun to treasure. Naruto gives his leg a quick pinch.

_Yeah, still awake._

He can hear retching from the farthest corner of his mind and is gifted with the image of Kurama placing his paws over two tails—each covering an ear—grumbling to himself before resuming his slumber. He wonders what the Akatsuki would have thought if they knew that the most powerful of the Biju snores. He purposefully does not think about the ten-tails, which exists squarely in “D _o Not Go There_ ” territory.

Sasuke blinks, faint surprise snaking out from underneath his walls to drape itself along the face the Uchiha presents to others. Sakura has sussed him out, a light whack on his good shoulder his only punishment before she no doubt repeats the instructions to help her wrap his injury.

Naruto’s ears have always been good, but between the crackling of the fire and the impact of rock on tin as Kakashi attempts to fix another unofficial coffee cup crushed in one of Sakura’s many fits of medically based rage, he can’t pick up the conversation. He's more than a little disappointed. The fear on Sasuke’s face when he had to confess that his fresh bandages were wet because he hadn't cared to shield them properly from the rain had him snickering to himself for days.

The now plain black cloth is fully slid upwards, Kakashi’s ever-active Sharingan enabling him to scrutinize the slowly reforming cup with maximum accuracy. He takes a moment while a heated portion of the tin cools to observe the two shinobi's antics. Upon noticing that Naruto is doing very much the same, he shoots him a quick wink with his unscarred eye, something wordless and affectionate passing seamlessly between them.

He feels a familiar plank of wood underneath him, and suddenly he’s a child again, watching from the sidelines as a father crouches down to mediate a furious argument between two small children. He struggles to keep a straight face as he treats their complaints as a deadly serious matter. As the two make amends, he encircles them both in his arms—shooting a fondly exasperated look to the third waiting nearby, beckoning him into the embrace as well.

 _Oh._ The epiphany slams into him with such force that it leaves him breathless; _I have that now._

Regrettably, he doesn’t think that they are at the point where anyone can initiate a group hug, but that’s alright. Baby steps.

Kakashi has completed his repairs by the time Sakura finishes with her Nightmare Patient, steam already rising from a freshly brewed cup. He hands it to her, ruffling her hair and picking up the medical kit before making his way over to the other member of Team Seven. Sasuke has stood from where he was being treated, and if not for their strange connection, it would be easy to miss how his eyes linger a second too long at the affection with which their former teacher treats them. Kakashi abruptly stops just as he passes him, peering into the medical bag as if deep thought; he shifts to balance it against a bent knee, “hmm” -ing as he rifles through the kit’s contents.

“Aha!” A tiny, rectangular slip is whipped out with a flourish, neither of the three fast enough to fully process it before he acts next.

Sasuke stares blankly into the distance, malfunctioning, as Kakashi withdraws his hand—aborting a secondary motion towards his head when he thinks better of it. The jounin snaps the kit shut and continues on his way, after which Naruto can finally see the full picture as the Uchiha continues his hard reboot.

Atop the bone-white of a freshly bandaged arm lies an obnoxiously bright kitty patterned band-aid; the phrase “You’re pawesome!” in a cramped, childlike font piercing through the gloom of the evening. Naruto knows for a fact that Sakura does not and never will carry band-aids like that, which honestly only serves to raise more questions than answers.

Because it answers absolutely zero questions.

Kakashi makes his way to the other side of the campfire, settling to his right and tearing into the sterile packaging of a new roll of bandaging. Naruto’s gaze wanders under the steady background noise of the jounin preparing what he needs. Sakura’s entire body is curled over the warmth held within her somewhat misshapen tin cup, Sasuke absentmindedly glancing at and poking his pink and yellow band-aid when he thinks the coast is clear.

The crinkling of wrapping ceases, and with a final zipper tugged closed, Kakashi's voice draws his attention, “Doctor Haruno is very busy at the moment, so I’ll be providing your care today~“

_Why are you like this?_

“Stop saying weird shit like that!” Naruto’s screeching protest is instant, neck straining as he tries to lunge over while inciting minimal amounts of pain.

“Oh dear, the patient is already so hostile!”

“Kakashi! _”_

“Fine, fine.” he wilts melodramatically for a moment, the mannerisms sliding off his form as quickly as one would doff a shroud, “Looks like someone is no fun today.”

Kakashi crooks a finger at his arm, signaling for him to raise it. He complies, but flinches when he moves too quickly. The older man’s features become pinched as he places a hand under Naruto’s bicep to guide it the rest of the way, apparently displeased by the results of the test he has unknowingly failed. Struck by a rare flight of mercy, the jounin simply reaches for the knot at the top of the bandaging instead of scolding him like he looks like he wants to. The incredible gentleness with which he attempts to loosen the tie makes Naruto feel guiltier than any admonishment could.

Movement from the corner of his eye steals his attention, dark hair and a scowling face as Sasuke attempts to feed their newest party member. The mule nips harshly at the Uchiha’s offering, hay plummeting from his grip to the forest floor as he yanks a bitten finger from the mouth of the beast. Sakura watches it all from her side of the camp, face utterly devoid of sympathy as she continues to nurse her coffee.

Beginning to unfurl his current bandages, Kakashi’s tone is light as he conversationally inquires about any recent changes in directions on their journey to Uzushio or if Kyuubi has given any other exciting bits of information.

“Kurama” Naruto reflexively corrects.

“ _Kurama.”_ comes the jounin’s patient echo, as if it were completely normal to call a chakra constructed being with the destructive power of a god by their first name.

Naruto’s mind catches up with the question, his stomach dropping as he realizes directions are actually a _thing_ , pausing just long enough that his former teacher reaches the accurate conclusion before he can cobble together a passable enough excuse. The sigh it wrings from the man is bone-weary, and Naruto can’t help but feel a little bad. Kakashi continues on to press cold fingers around the places where the flesh is still an angry red, the edges of the wound pulling around the stitches. It definitely hurts; it's the slowest he’s ever healed in his life, but he doesn’t even consider waking Kurama to speed it up. It makes him feel almost normal. Everyone he had loved in the other world, save for Gaara for a time, had healed like this too. It’s a morbid link he is unwilling to let go of for now.

His mouth hangs open in his attempt to further explain his freestyle navigating, Kakashi straightening from his despondent slump to hold a finger to his own lips. Hinting that he should keep his voice down if he doesn’t want the already frazzled Sakura to hear how he never thought to ask for directions to the _lost_ ruins of the _hidden_ village of the whirlpool and was just leading by a gut feeling this whole time. The jinchuriki groans (Sakura is going to kill him), moving to bury his head in his arms, only to remember one is out of commission for the moment when it is gently held in place.

 _Great job_ , he admonishes himself, he had only one thing to do correctly after the massive fuck up at the God Tree, and he couldn’t even do that—directions are so simple, he really is an idiot. He is knocked from his spiraling inner monologue by the press of a cold hand to the warm skin of his forehead. Kakashi’s eyes have narrowed in concentration or suspicion, maybe even both, as he moves it from one side to the other, turning his palm over to press the back of his hand to the jinchuriki’s cheek.

“Do you normally run this hot?”

“Huh? What are you even doing, you weirdo?!”

“What do you mean ‘what are you doing’?! I'm checking your temperature because you’re burning up, you little shit.” Kakashi gives a vengeful tug on his ear, forceful enough to convey his annoyance but mindful enough to not irritate an injury.

“Well, you’re not using the thing Granny and Sakura always did at the hospital!” His arms are currently indisposed, so he settles for a rude jerk of his chin towards the med-pack, only to sheepishly discover that the tool in question has been smashed to bits.

"...a _thermometer_?” A stunned pause, “Wait, are you telling me no one has ever checked your temperature this way before?”

He tries to remember, brushing past the hazy childhood memory of one of his rare bouts with illness, Iruka’s worried brown eyes staring down at him as hands soothed against the furnace that had been his face, the same way Kakashi’s just had. Upon yet another reminder of their lost home, Naruto concludes that maybe the whole directions thing isn't so bad a distraction.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.” his former teacher tries to console him, “She can’t be mad at me since I fixed her favorite cup, _plus_ she would never hit a fragile old man, now would she?” A mismatched set of eyes, peat-black and Uchiha red, crinkle at the corners in such an instinctively fond fashion that Naruto feels the air punched from his lungs a second time.

Red that launches him back into visions of a life Kakashi had never even hinted at, Naruto only knowing what he does due to his time in the strange atral plane with the man’s former teammate. He knows now is not the time, but he can’t stop the furious clench of his fist as his thoughts overtake him; why had he never said anything? Does he not trust them, thinks they’re just kids that can’t handle it? That he can’t lean on them?

The same man who had grabbed the Demon of the Mist’s shuriken with his bare hand after the mercenary dared to touch his students had just stood there, had just _taken_ _it_ as Obito visited abuse after abuse upon him. The messy ball of emotions writhing angrily in his gut only tangles further the more he tries to puzzle it out. He pushes it down, crams it into the growing pile of his ugliest feelings. He can’t be angry—can’t possibly be anything but useful and supportive, stupidly cheerful because people don’t like that, and when people don’t like things they leave them.

Kakashi must notice it, for it only takes a quick tug for the cloth for the transplanted eye to be covered entirely once again. Neither of them says anything, only the slow unwinding of bandages preventing absolute silence. A white-hot flash of frustration thrums through him when the jounin pretends to absentmindedly hum a cheery tune—the lazy, ditzy mask falling perfectly over his physical one.

“ _Behind this mask ... is another mask! Pretty cool, huh?”_

He really hadn’t been kidding.

Naruto awkwardly tries to fill the silence, blurting out a stilted "I, uh, get them too.”

Kakashi’s brow furrows, "The what? I know you've suffered massive blood loss, but you'll have to speak more clearly so your dear old teacher can understand you, _Na~ru~to~_ " finishing it off with a little boop on the nose, the exact same type he’s seen gifted to Pakkun.

_Hey—! I’m not a dog!_

Naruto refocuses on his target. "When you got that far-off look on your face, you started to breathe all fast too. I noticed and, um, know how that feels.”

___________________

Kakashi must be really losing his touch in his old age.

"I remember,” he finishes tying off the remaining cloth, taking the extra time to ensure that it is neither too loose nor too tight. He doesn’t want to think about why that care is so instinctual now. He can’t think about what that means—not if he wants to keep looking after these kids. He ignores the voice that snidely informs him that _child soldiers_ stop being kids very, very early.

“You don't get them anymore now, though, do you?" he questions, cocking his head like a curious hound as he changes the subject. Like he always does. It is half out of genuine concern and half for the frenzied thing inside that is gnawing off its limb to escape this conversation's real end goal.

As he avoids another pointed look thrown his way, Kakashi's eyes catch on a slowly falling leaf as it gently sways from above before gravity turns it in such a way that it then dives to the ground. The distant crunch underneath boots as Sakura and Sasuke move to set up camp for the evening—bickering over small things like the placement of a lantern or the angle used to drive a tent stake in.

 _Like siblings that can’t stand the sight of each other,_ Kakashi notes with a wry smile. Maybe it says something about his dysfunctional little team’s dynamic for that to actually be heartwarming.

Returning from his earlier musings, he finds that it is not just the one, but all the trees around them have already changed to match the favorite color of the boy currently pouting at his earlier deflection.

 _It’s October_.

“Hmm... it seems like ... I’m forgetting something ...” Kakashi muses, drawing out his words just because he knows it is irritating. As he checks his leftmost vest pocket (ripped beyond repair), Naruto immediately jumps in to help. _He really is just that kind of guy._

“Is it in one of your arm pockets instead?”

“Negative.”

“Cargo pocket?”

“Nope!”

“Hmmm, oh, I know! Maybe you hid it in a super-secret compartment in your shoe!”

_Goddammit, Naruto._

“The thoughts floating around in that brain of yours really are something,” Kakashi sighs, reaching into his closest interior pocket, retrieving what he was looking for. Naruto is still propped up against the bark of the tree with the red-orange leaves, eyes closed in a trademark fox-like grin as he no doubt congratulates himself on his ingenuity.

“Happy late birthday.”

Blue eyes startle open to the item swinging in front of him. The early morning frost is starting to nip a bit too much to be comfortable, but Naruto can’t move to take his eyes off of the little red toad currently dangling from a keychain. It hurts Kakashi to see him still so unaccustomed to receiving gifts. Perhaps it is arrogant to think he could have prevented this somewhere in his life, but he does so anyway.

"I thought Gama might like a friend. He’s always carrying around all that stuff by himself—having someone else around to watch his back can’t hurt, right? Actually, I should have given him one a long time ago. Sorry for that. He’s been through a lot.”

Naruto was Kakashi’s student before he was Jiraiya’s _,_ so he can see that they aren’t really talking about his frog wallet anymore. He blinks furiously to keep from having to swipe at his eyes with the sleeve of his one remaining hand; he needs it to accept the offered chain.

“Who puts keychains on wallets? You’re such an uncool old man—it’s not even wrapped!” he struggles with both retrieving Gama and attaching the clip before pausing, “I swear, if you say it...”

A slow, insidious thing stretches itself across Kakashi’s face as he does what any responsible adult in his situation would do.

“Do you ... _need a hand?_ ”

The only factor keeping Naruto from outright screaming is the threat of certain death in unfamiliar lands. Kakashi thinks he might even see some steam coming from his ears. _Adorable._

“Ugh! You are impossible to really speak to, you know that?!” Naruto slumps against the base of the tree with a huff as Kakashi takes over the task.

“Aww, my cute little genin is so cranky! Just like the good old days, when you were such adorable kids and actually listened to what I told you,” Kakashi laments, brushing away a single fake tear. He’s lost the right to truly express such affection openly after all his failures, but this doesn’t stop the oath that carves itself into his heart on its own.

 _I understand—oh, Minato, Kushina, I finally get it_.

Kakashi has long forgiven and can even understand his father. Still, as he catches the wobbly tilt to Naruto’s lips after every glance at his small gift, like he is afraid it isn’t real—and doesn’t that make something dark and fanged bristle inside—he knows he would shoulder any humiliation for the chance to give even one more scrap of happiness.

He and Sasuke have some pointed conversations in their future, but that doesn’t mean he can’t go out of his way to keep “accidentally” purchasing those unholy tomato chips that no one else can stomach. He has no idea why Sakura has remained as civil with him as she has; she is the one he has failed the earliest and arguably the most. Hatake Kakashi has a lot of work to do. He supposes that saving the world can come a close second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you've probably heard this before, but I'm dedicated to finishing this absurdly self-indulgent fic and have 3/4ths of it moderately planned out! Ideally, I would love to be able to post once a week, but I must perform my silly little tasks for Mr. Capitalism at least eight hours a day, so it might be two weeks or even three sometimes. Other than that, I hope you are all doing well and are safe!!


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